


A Conjuring of Glaives

by Gothiiknight



Series: Conjuring Verse [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Insomnian legal codes, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Traitor Trio, Varying Chapter Lengths, alternating pov, and way more to come, general Lucian cultures, lots of exploration of Caelum Magic, mute!sonitus, rare pairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothiiknight/pseuds/Gothiiknight
Summary: Sneaking out for a night on the town, Noctis departs wildly from his plotted course. A chance encounter leads to a strange meeting, curiosity sparks investigation, and a prince slowly surrounds himself with glaives. (This is a terrible summary, hopefully I'll think of a better one)





	1. Sneaking Out (Noctis)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dark_Puck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Puck/gifts).



" _There once lived a man, born to a mortal but blessed with powers divine. Conjuring a collection of glaives he dispelled the darkness plaguing our star.”_

 

Sometimes, Noctis grew more restless than friendship, slacking off, or videogames could quiet; too irritable and exhausted to sleep. _He'd never say too anxious._ Uncomfortable with his friends' presence, with the pressures of being a prince and a teenager, half pretending at being normal so he wouldn't have to face. Well, everything.

He wasn't sure which way, really, he wanted things to bend. Responsibility on his shoulders, but no way to meet it. Not really, not in anything that mattered. No way to help his father who was always distant, always working. Always _**dying**_. What good was learning all the things Iggy tried to teach him, if he wouldn't be allowed to _do_ anything with it? Till it was too late. Why deal with any of it when it just meant facing the King, all regal and sitting there breaking himself to hold the Wall.

Just like he'd have to eventually.

Every now and then, Noct needed to get away. Do something. Usually he'd run to the arcade, or just take a walk, whatever. _He would only call it sulking afterwards, and only to Prompto, with a laugh and a self deprecating shrug. “Gotta have_ some _flaws you know, right?”_

But it'd been his father's birthday a week ago and it'd felt like there were ants crawling under his skin ever since. He just wanted _out_. So after 'going to bed' with a “hey, night guys,” and a yawn – he did.

An hour or so after excusing himself to his room, Noctis slipped from his bedroom window silently, closing it behind him and perching in the sill for a moment before tossing a knife at the ground with a casual flick of his wrist. He leaped into the alley, flipping midair and warping downwards into a dive.

He phased back into place just above the surface of the street, rolling forward lithely into a practiced landing that made sure the scar on his back never quite touched the ground. The prince's feet hit the pavement with a soft _smack_ covered entirely by the clang of a trash can a street or two away. And then he started to stroll, black jeans and a black hoodie helping him fade into the background.

It didn't take long for him to disappear in the city completely, blending into its stark countenance and smiling under its lights. The night wasn't far reached into, just beginning, and he didn't think he'd need to worry about being looked for, but even if he was-

It was hard to follow a Caelum through the streets of Insomnia. The city had been soaked in their lives, in their blood, in their Crystal's light, for as long as its stone and metal stood. It'd become harder still since the Wall was pulled to its borders, magic filtering down as thick as smog, soaking into the concrete and running through the pipes. A peculiar vibrancy infused the ancient and ever marching city, as unique as Tenebrae's own fae and twilit atmosphere.

A Caelum could slip into all of that in a conspiracy of accidents, a part of the city as much as anything else, when they wanted to. It was a talent not particularly appreciated by the Shields of the Amicitia line, or the Crownsguard, or really anyone interested in keeping track of the royal bloodline.

Particularly not in nineteen year old princes looking for a drink.


	2. Night at the Bar (Sonitus)

“ _Oh long is the day in Cleigne,  
__in Cleigne,  
__Long as the disk is wide!_  

 _And short is the time,  
__the time  
__the time ~  
__My true love's by my side!_  

 _But I am called to war my love_  
_my love  
_ _And I must go~_

 _There's work to do_  
_in Cleigne today  
_ _The work against our foe!~”_

 

Sonitus nursed the now warm drink in his hand, sipping the bitter burn of it as the other glaives in the _Gaudium_ boasted and brayed and tried to forget about the day by being, well, alive. His foot tapped along to the verses of _Short is the Time_ coming from some of the older hands in the back of the bar, but he didn't dwell on them, or the song. Even if every fucking one of them was managing to be off beat somehow.

_Two funerals tomorrow._

But they'd stopped the latest advance. Again. The glaive reminded himself of that, forcefully, with a long swallow of the drink he didn't like.

Sonitus didn't order drinks that wouldn't make him wince.

The advance _had_ stopped. That mattered. It had to.

Thinking about that almost kept him satisfied. Even if it was mostly just out of a vindictive bitterness for the Niffs, these days.

It'd been years now, since he could think of something like that and feel like it was _worth_ it. Maybe since he lost his voice to the magic surging in his blood. _The King's loaned power_ . _Enough to kill with a word. With_ any _word from_ his mouth _._ Maybe before then.

It was hard to see that anything was worth his comrades giving up their lives for this damn city that hated them. It's not like it was protecting _his_ homeland. Or even theirs, really. Accordo was occupied. Everywhere but Insomnia was, they were just stemming the infestation. Was that worth the chance that it'd be Tredd? That it'd be Axis.

He'd had nightmares about it being Axis. Taking his kids to their father's funeral.

But if it, if the fight, wasn't worth it, he wasn't sure what it was, what _else_ there was-

 

“ _The work is hard  
__Look, calloused hands  
__The work is hard  
__  
As work demands  
__The work is hard  
__  
And high the cost  
__The work is hard  
__By flame and frost_  

 _But all is well_  
_It's well  
_ _it's well_

 _For I am hale and free_  
_And short is the time,_  
_the time  
_ _the time ~_

_Till I'll return to thee!”_

 

Sonitus snorted, well that was one advantage to falling in love with fellow soldiers at least. His two, especially. They weren't far from each other when they deployed.

Around him, the bar was teeming with conversation, songs, clatters, and the strong scents of outlander food being fried up in the _Glaudium_ 's open air kitchen. Arcus Ferrun might be one armed, these days, but the former glaive could still cook for a crowd.

The chaos of it all was comforting enough to keep him there on a night like this, where for some reason he didn't seem to have tired at all. Despite the long day, none of them had. It was still raucous enough to remind him to be alive with it, for his loves, at least, and to drown out how long it'd been since he could sing. He _missed_ singing.

And-

He glanced over at his own redheaded troublemaker with a fond smile. Tredd was going to need dragging home at some point, probably. Axis was already back at his apartment with his kids, but their redheaded lover was busy getting into what looked like some sort of rowdy drink off with Ostium and Ulric that involved-

Honestly Sonitus wasn't actually sure what it involved. At all. But he watched them. His gaze shifted over, eventually, almost unwillingly, to the other source of silence in the otherwise busy bar. His eyes slipped over the figure a few times, drawn by a loud noise, or something more interesting. Till he realized it was happening and grew irritated by it, slowed his gaze down. It was like watching for fish in one of the canals, trident in hand, you couldn't quite look straight at them.

A pretty-faced teen with his hood up, face half covered, looking down and smiling at his phone as he took huge swigs from a drink that somehow managed to still _look_ expensive and out of place even served in one of Arcus' foggy-glassed mugs. Somebody tripped, smacked a table.

Sonitus kept looking.

A bit of alcohol spilled to near the _Gaudium's_ grill, a brief fire flared up.

He ignored it. His head tilted slightly, staring at the young man. Wait. No.

He squinted. Shit.

 _Leviathan's bloody tailed shriek_.  
  
_That's Noctis Lucis fucking Caelum._


	3. Insomnian Blackout (Noctis)

It was loud. And Noctis was drunk.

He wasn't really sure when that had happened. But he was sure if he stayed very still it'd be fine. Still was nice. He could just keep drinking the Insomnian Blackout in front of him till he felt more on solid grounds, it was sweet and burning and made a pleasant distraction from everything.

Besides, it felt pretty nice just sitting still?

It felt  _ really _ nice sitting still surrounded by glaives, he hadn't noticed that before, not that he'd ever been around a group of them all at once, but he could feel  **it** in them.

Caelum magic.

It came from the Crystal, sure. But it passed through their hands first, their blood, before it reached the Glaives, just as they passed themselves back to it. Back and forth, generation after generation, their souls seeped with light and the light stained through with them.

The power of kings loaned to them bubbled along the surface of his....he wasn't sure. Mind? Soul? Whatever. It bubbled gently, like sitting in a hot tub. Except their magic was cool and hard and it tasted differently than he realized it could-

He could feel his own radiating out to to the power invested in them, a spiraling weave of lazy half-light, feeding into them, revitalizing them. He wondered if any of them would start to feel it, wondered what that would even feel like. Noctis knew his father didn't spend much time around them.

As he drank, he let the sound, let the way the glaives spoke, sink into him. Different accents crowded at him, different voices, gruff, jolly, sharp, cutting, shouting, singing, complaining, a lot of them angry. Though not on the surface, just, bubbling as quietly as the magic was, touched underneath. Somebody was cursing, okay there was a whole lot of cursing, honestly. 

And then a voice cutting through it all like a bell.

“That's Noctis Lucis fucking Caelum.”

Which was totally a thing that was  **not** supposed to happen. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . 

He was way too used to relying on people just overlooking him. But, but if one of them was really paying attention…  
  
A lifetime of Gladio’s warnings kicked in immediately, trained in deeper than conscious thought as he started to panic more than a little.  _Don’t stray too far or I’ll lose track, if it happens anyways, keep moving for the Citadel. Whatever you do, **don’t** draw attention to yourself._

There’s at least two sides to everything, especially magic. And in the City, it was rather all or nothing. Either the royal bloodline just blended into the background magic strung throughout the city-

Or it all lead straight to the Caelum in question, feeding into them, highlighting for all to see. Useful for royal speeches, stopping a crowd, that sort of thing. Not quite as useful in his given situation. His eyes went wide, cut a swathe across the crowd, back, forth, locked on the man staring at him for an instant. Enough to catch the light brown skin, the hair shaved down to his skull in three neat rows and the Kingsglaive jacket unzipped over a black shirt.

Noctis lurched to his feet without making a noise. At least not intentionally. He bumped  the table as he moved, sending a spike of pain up through his thigh and sloshing some of his blackout onto the thankfully already well stained wooden tabletop. Cursing under his breath he made immediately to leave, walking with sloshy purpose towards the side of the open air bar that lead to an alley.  
  
“And now he’s running. He’s drunk. And running. And he’s going to get his idiot self killed, and  **_we’re_ ** going to get blamed for it. With our luck, Tredd will probably stumble over him in an alley and kick him in the face or something on top of it all.”

The man’s voice was remarkably clear, almost musical. One of those that, apparently, cut through chatter like a knife - even if no one else seemed to be paying attention as the prince found himself being followed.

Noctis had never quite realized how tense being chased could be until it was happening in slow motion through a crowd of otherwise unsuspecting glaives and other neighborhood natives of Little Galahd. The most extra attention he really got was a few good natured insults and shoves and somebody ruffling his hair through the hood of his sweater, thank  _ six _ .

But the one glaive was still focused entirely on him, gaze unwavering as Noctis broke out of the little circle of warm lighting that surrounded the  _ Gaudium _ and into an alley. “I really didn't need this today. I didn't need this  _ any _ day. Why is he even here?”

If he'd been a little less drunk, Noct might have noticed something strange about the other's voice. Or the way he was talking, or any of a dozen other things. Instead he was busy panicking about someone noticing him.

Because...because, well he wasn't supposed to be out and they'd- the young prince was halfway down the alley when he stopped. Sensing something, a little pinprick buzzing at his attention. His face was drawn in at the edges in abject confusion as he turned.

Just in time to see a dagger flying directly for his face. Adrenaline pumped, his heart didn't just speed up, it vibrated so quickly it came to an abrupt stop as he stared at the edged weapon and the man who was attempting to kill him.

Trying to remember how it was he was supposed to handle this.

A flash of light. 

The dagger held still right in front of him, a few hands away. Caught. Replaced by an unsmiling glaive who looked, really quite intimidating actually, despite his nice voice. Noctis leaned back, teetered, and abruptly sat down on the cold ground, staring up at him.

It seemed the thing to do.

Apparently the glaive wasn't trying to kill him at all. That was probably good, they'd both get into so much trouble over that.

“He sat down. He fucking sat down!? That's...kinda adorable actually. This asshole shouldn't be that adorable.”

Noctis made a noise of protest.

“I'm fine, seriously, I'll  **be** like, totally fine,” Noctis huffed at the man, glowering up at him through a haze of inky dark that was probably just his hoodie or his hair or something. “And I'm not an asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noctis apparently hearing Sonitus really will be explained, don't worry! At this point the characters themselves don't really get what's going on. They'll puzzle it out though~


	4. Being Heard (Sonitus)

Sonitus stared down at the obviously sloshed prince and frowned in that way that really only happened between the brows and in the tilt of his head, going through his options. He wasn’t going to just drag him back to the bar and have someone call his Shield -- he doubted the prince would cooperate with that in the first place. He really didn’t need to try manhandling a Caelum prince, besides.

And he wasn’t going to leave him there.

_Well, guess I’m taking the kid back myself._ He sighed.

“Not a kid _either_ , I can get home on my own! I’ll just call a taxi or something, it’ll be fine,” Noctis said from the ground, glaring up at him through his hair like he was ready to fight about it. Which Sonitus would have thought more about if it weren’t for the fact that…

The boy was acting like he could _hear_ him talking. Like he was saying anything.And he tried not to even think about the last time he’d spoken, voice jerking out and tossing Axis into a wall. Sonitus stood stock still, confusion and anger working its way through him as the prince of six-damn Lucis reached out, grabbed hold of his pants and slowly proceeded to climb up his body as a means of standing up again.

Noctis had to tilt his chin up a little to meet his eyes, his face half obscured by his hoodie and his messy hair, and the young royal was staring at him through narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about? Of course I can hear you.”

Sonitus stiffened, his mind stumbling over just what in the depths was going on. But he tried to focus, anyways, if the boy was hearing what he was thinking. Or what he might almost say, or-

_**No**_. He wasn't handling this right now. It was late. It was way too much to process. It was probably some weird Caelum thing anyways, it wasn't as if there weren't enough rumors about the royal family. And Sonitus Bellum, of all people, knew that being favored of gods and goddesses came with strange quirks. He didn't think of the spray of waves, or the way songs had once swollen in his chest like something larger than himself, larger than towers and cities. He'd become excellent at not thinking of it.

_I’m putting you in a taxi. See you get home safe._ The thought was gruff, somewhere between tentative and as commanding as he might have spoken what felt a lifetime ago; as the darling of the Altissian Opera scene, as something more to Leviathan.

Noctis snorted, half leaning against Sonitus’ densely muscled frame. “It'll be fine, see,” the prince lurched off of him and stumbled to the end of the alley.

Just as a taxi pulled up. And a passenger got out and that was it. That was it. Sonitus was officially done. Weird princes and long nights and friends had already _died_ that day. Hopefully this was just some sort of idiotic hallucination. Maybe he'd fallen asleep at the bar. He turned away as the prince busied himself gesturing to the car like it was proving his drunken point and moved towards it; he tried not to roll his eyes at the boy's sudden giggling.

“Well. Coming or not? And I wasn't giggling! You're just, funny, okay. Nobody ever talks to me like that. S'nice,” the crown prince of Insomnia said. It sounded like he was waving his hands, and a car door was opening. “Come on, you said you were getting me home. I've got the cab. I'll have him drop me off. Then you.”

This was accompanied with the sounds of somebody pulling their wallet out, fumbling with it, and muffled cursing as something thudded on the ground. 

Sonitus sighed, turning again and swooping down to snatch the wallet up as his highness tried to manage holding onto the open cab of the door, grabbing the wallet and leaning down all at once. The younger man nearly hit himself in the head while he was at it, before twisting to practically throw himself into the seat, hand flopping out to accept the wallet back as the glaive dropped it into Noctis’ waiting grasp.

And slid himself in alongside him.

“Thanks,” the prince said cheerfully, sprawling back on the seat and somehow managing to take up far more space than he should have in the backseat -- leaned back but curled he was only barely touching the car with his shoulders and his ass. Noctis gave his address to the man, who shared a look with Sonitus in the rearview.

Sonitus, who wasn’t even sure why the other man was here, there weren’t that many cabs that came down to Little Galahd in the first place.

It was a few minutes into the ride that he realized Noctis had tossed one leg over his own and he’d barely noticed. Which left the prince arched up and looking like something between a cat and a few things that the glaive definitely shouldn’t be thinking of when it came to _him_.

“You’re Bellum, right? Ah, Sonitus Bellum?” Noctis piped up, voice idle as he glanced out the window. “I know we’ve got an Altissian glaive and like, I can hear the accent.”  
  
Sonitus frowned, glancing over at the driver who was barely paying attention to the prince. Which was weird, it wasn’t like the boy really blended in once you looked at him. He was famous. Before in the bar, the cab, hearing him now, his name, it was all-

The prince huffed, and Sonitus could almost hear _his_ eyes rolling this time, as one hand flopped dismissively.  “It’s just, weird family stuff. Happens. ‘Somnia takes care of us. And there’s nothing weird about knowing your _name_ , I know the files is all. Have a real good memory,” the prince said it off hand, like it was nothing.  
  
Like it wasn’t strange all on it’s own that the prince would know one random glaive from another, even if something was distinctive about them. When the King barely ever paid them anymind, like it wasn't strange for him to seem concerned after everything they went through.

Irritation that didn’t quite make it into words or anything so coherent as that flashed through Sonitus. Friends mowed down, sacrificed for this city that hated them. Axis struggling to make payments on the apartment, weeks where he was getting by on barely anything to make sure his children had enough to eat. Every little bit he managed to scrounge away eaten away in a dozen different petty ways as he struggled to make things work on glaive salary, while crownsguard hassled him, and other agencies tried to take his children from him. From any immigrant they could get an excuse for. Tredd and how he’d fared in the Insomnian school system, being a child of the rest of Cavaugh. Everything Crowe had gone through. How often he and Pelna both got detained for no reason at all.

But the glaive clamped all of that down as Noctis turned to look curiously at him with glassy-drunk eyes, head tilted ever so slightly. The expression was open, earnest, and something about the way the prince looked as the street lights flashed in and out held him caught Sonitus' attention and held it.

Not quite a mind reader at least with however he was hearing him, which was good. He'd have reacted far more to all of that then. There was something there but, it wasn’t like Sonitus hadn’t had a few himself, too. The entire thing felt surreal.

It’d only been at most ten or fifteen minutes since they’d first started walking out of Glaudium.

They stared at each other quietly with nothing but the sound of the engine and the city between them, Sonitus doing his best not to form words in his mind and the prince watching him, his expression something between confused and just plain drunk. A few more minutes passed and then they were pulling up in front of a small and obviously expensive apartment building.

It was a few beats before Noctis’ expression tucked up into a soft smile and he wet his lips. “Thank you for escorting me home, Sonitus Bellum. And I don’t know why you’d think I was a mind reader, I ah. Never been too great at reading people. You’re just expressive,” the prince said, voice more subdued, almost tender, as he stared down into his wallet, opening it, handing the cabbie what looked like several rather large crown notes.

“Where do you live?” he continued and Sonitus thought of his address. Precise, perfunctory, his stomach twisting in knots at the idea that. Well. He, Axis, and Tredd, some of the other glaives, had learned sign language. He could still text, too. But the ease of conversation...he’d missed many things about his voice.

Noctis repeated the address to the driver. “Take him there and keep all the change,” and then he was sliding out of the car, stumbling a little, leaning down just enough to flash a wider smile at Sonitus.

“Have a nice night. Really, you’re sweet. Even if uh, even if I know it was a bit of a hassle,” Noctis said, before closing the door and disappearing into the apartment complex.

“Weird kid,” the cabbie grunted, starting to pull away.

Sonitus stared out the window until Noctis disappeared into his apartment building, trying not to frown.

Yes, yes he really was.


	5. Morning Thoughts (Noctis)

Noctis didn’t wake up with a hangover, he wasn’t certain if his lack thereof was thanks to youth and a decent metabolism, magic, or some gift leftover from Insomnia. But he sure as Bahamut’s rusty blade didn’t remember drinking any water.

Yet all he felt was a little groggy as the night came back to him in some sort of dreamy stop motion, dogging at his heels as he rolled reluctantly out of bed and made his way into the kitchen.

_Little Galahd hadn’t been his destination exactly. He’d just let himself wander on whatever currents he felt flowing through the city. Passed by the arcade, passed by a few nicer bars before slipping into the rowdier immigrant district, past the statue of the Rogue-_

He nearly tripped twice as he made his way from his bedroom into the living room and towards the kitchen before he realized he’d managed to mostly strip himself but somehow gotten his _hoodie_ half up his left leg and tangled. He leaned up against his fridge as he forced it off.

Blearily, yawning, he poured out a little food for Lady Nightlight and picked up the water dish to refill it too. As he shuffled past the coffee machine to set the small bowl back beside the fridge a tiny arc of lightning leaped from his finger with a lazy gesture and crashed into the machine, starting it after a few moments. He was incredibly lucky Ignis always made sure to refill it for him. Or somebody did, didn’t matter.

_He’d stumbled into the Gaudium almost by accident, it was one of a few glaive haunts, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. But the buzz as he walked back in, little pinpricks of light and shadow against the back of his mind. That one felt like an open flame, that one like a breeze, like oak trees, like a great cresting wave and a song, like the feeling of finally landing a hard tumble while practicing gymnastics._

The scent of brewing coffee wafted into the air just as he carefully set his cat’s dish down, grunting a little as his back hurt, the thick scar running up and down it pulling at muscle. His face contorted into a grimace right as Lady ran over with a mew.

Ignoring him in favor of her fresh food. He gave her sleek black coat a pet or two, before rising more slowly this time and starting to rummage to the kitchen. It took him longer than it should to recognize the box of poptarts, he pulled a package out, tossed them into the toaster to heat up and leaned over the counter, forehead resting against one of the cupboards.

He pulled a clean coffee mug, one with a pac-man logo on it, out of the armiger, and set it down.

 _It felt nice and wrong at the same time, taking in their company. He’d wanted to be a glaive since he could walk, even when he_ couldn’t _walk. And so many of them felt so tired, his energy spun out of him with barely a thought, gently healing and refilling them as he ordered one drink. And then another, and another. Until Sonitus..._

The toaster gave a little dinging sound as the poptarts popped up, and he blinked, glancing at the machine. It wasn’t too hard, even spaced out and groggy as he was, to navigate the hot pastry-things onto a small plate, and pour his coffee out. Black was fine when he was having something else so sugary. Plopping down at the kitchen table felt nice, too.

He took a bite almost numbly, chewing the overly sweet cherry flavored thing as he stared at Lady Nightlight happily chewing at her own breakfast.

_The glaive noticing him, chasing him down, helping him home. That frank way he’d spoken in that frankly beautiful voice. While insisting that it was strange Noct could hear him at all. Staring at each other, softly, in the back of a cab._

It wasn’t like anything had happened, the moment hadn’t even been charged, even if Noctis had been embarrassingly tactile with the man. Sonitus. That was his name, that had been right at least. And as he thought about it…

_Words, but the man’s lips weren’t moving. Except for his expression. Frowns and almost smiles and staring and glowering but no.  No actual words. Just half impressions of so many things. And something very close to anger at the idea of Noctis hearing him, though the prince had no idea where that was coming from in the least. Running through it all, too, something sad._

_He might be terrible at reading people, but he was pretty good at recognizing sad._

Groaning, Noctis sipped some of his coffee. Then sipped more of it, not caring it was burning his tongue more than a little.  There was something bothering him about all that. Besides literally hearing a man when he didn't speak. It was just curiosity, really, he insisted to himself. It was just curiosity, curiosity was good, he repeated to himself, making excuses for half formed plans already skittering in his head. Even though he really didn’t have much time to get distracted.

It was already going to be a busy week. There was a party over the weekend, celebrating his father’s birthday and coronation anniversary both. He’d be helping way more than he liked with that but maybe he’d get some time…  
  
He could make some time. He could, he reasoned with himself.

Pulling his phone out, he gnawed at his lip, worrying over it. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide. But still, he didn’t want to tell anyone about his trip last night. Gladio would just insist on sticking by his side even more for a while and things were already feeling suffocating. So maybe he wouldn’t be totally upfront with Iggy. Besides his friend and advisor would just be glad he was taking an interest in any part of his duties, probably.

Noctis tried not to think about the pit that yawned in his stomach at the thought. The look Iggy got sometimes. That disappointment that made it hard to process, hard to _move_. Especially when he knew he deserved it. He wanted to help really, wanted to help so _badly_ sometimes that it choked him, but so much of what anybody would let him do was. Protocol, nothing else. Exhausting and frivolous and-

He shook his head, focusing on texting the other man. This was _fine_ . He wanted to get to the bottom of just why he could hear Sonitus when apparently he was mute, or couldn’t talk or _something_. Especially because he didn’t remember there being any mention of that in the files he’d read before.

_**[text: Iggy the Man]** Hey bring the glaive dossiers by today? Wanna go over whoever the Captain is putting on security for the whole celebration-ball thing this weekend._

And then, chewing at his lip, taking a vicious bite out of his second poptart, he kept typing. There was one place he was sure he could find out something about strange magical phenomena.

_**[text: Iggy the Man]** Bring it over to the Citadel tho. Gonna be in dad’s library today. Weird dreams, wanna look some stuff up._

There.

He huffed to himself, nodding. Should keep Iggy from asking too many questions while he satisfied this whole little curious itch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Noctis starting to realize what was strange about hearing Sonitus 'talk' at all! Or some of it at least.


	6. Interlude I (Insomnia)

The line of kings had lived in Insomnia for long as there had _been_ kings, since before the city had its name. Since before they truly knew themselves. They gave their spirit to it, and their blood, and their magic, and their lives. Just as they gave to the Crystal.

Just as the Crystal had given to them. 

Life for light.

Bound to them by the six, but not _of_ them. The Crystal was of a seventh power, ruled by itself and the will of its chosen line. Nothing else. The soul of Eos’ star. 

Insomnia loved them each from the Lucii standing watch over the centuries to the least of it's scions, it loved them with every brick. With each streak of road and every mile of pipe and every foundation laid. It loved them in an unreasoning, immortal, way. The best and worst of them, with the best and worst of itself.

For many years it had slumbered with something half like a soul and half like a web. Aiding its kings and queens in twists of fortune, pattern, and instinct; little more. But nearly three decades before, just a few years before Regis had taken the throne -- the Wall had fallen back. Been pulled back.  From all of Lucis down to Insomnia itself. 

Wrapped around in an ever-present dome. Magic radiating into the cobbles, soaking into it at a higher rate than it ever had before. It did not quite slumber anymore.

But it _did_ dream.

It sat in one of its dreams now. Beneath a tapestry of stars, only one of which mattered to the Unsleeping City. It held itself in a vaguely human shape. A form curled up out of smog haze, headlight beams, and the bent reflections in skyscraper windows. The body was something like a mirage and something like a memory, more stained into its own dream, bled through into it, than present in any sort of flesh.

It perched on the edge of a rooftop, overlooking itself. And waited. It was not very long before Insomnia was not alone anymore. The dreamweaver arrived between one not-breath and the next. It had sensed he wanted a word. Not that it was sure how, exactly. It was still new to a great deal.

“You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you?” it asked in a voice of horns and pigeon wings, of slammed doors and music in the streets.

The fox stirred beside it for a moment, seeking a comfortable position as he placed his delicate chin off the side of the roof. “I did. I felt you stirring, you know. I doubt anyone else will. You’re not quite within their reach. The Archaeon might, if he weren't distracted and still asleep himself. Some of the other messengers, but they're mostly busy. Even so. You’re meddling in things bigger than either of us,” Carbuncle said, his voice soft and musical inside the city’s dream.

"I am _**not**_. I acted as I must.  All the Six know this. Within my walls, I guide the Caelum line. Long have I and the Amicitia kept them safe. They are all my family. All I did was nudge the dawn prince towards company for a night. No more, no less. Anything that results in this is his doing. He has a path now, to knowledge, to action. What that action is, is up to him. And they cannot force his choice. There is a reason they have sought to keep him in the dark, Carbuncle. And it is a selfish one," Insomnia said, voice brittle and glass, full of breaking things and a thousand sighs. 

The immortal fox, messenger, minor god in his own right, huffed, tail flicking.

"I care about him too, you know. He's a good boy, he always has been. But have you thought another route might be easier, for him. That what they plan-" he tried delicately.

"No."

"Insomnia-"

"No. He will have _**choice**_ , dreamweaver," a thousand doors shut, a thousand windows opened. They were all its voice. "He may stay the course, he may take another, he may make his own. Whatever comes for _me_ , his fate should be his own his own. He does not belong to the Six, he and his are a seventh power. I will fight to see he knows that, and that they do not forget it. Whatever comes."

Carbuncle sighed. "I'm not disagreeing with you. Only, it won't be easy, that's all. I wanted to make sure you'd thought it through. Not on you, not on him. And I'm starting to like you, nobody else has ever dreamed quite like you dream."

"Their prophecy is _not_ easy, not for him.  _They_ are not easy."

"Fair enough."

The pair sat in companionable silence, after that, quiet, steady. Times ahead would be stressful, tumultuous even, but for the moment no one else had realized yet how things had begun to slide off course. For the moment, things were well, and they could simply sit awhile longer.


	7. Fetivities (Tredd)

Tredd wasn’t in a great mood, citadel security detail was a crock, worse than gate duty.  And he'd never been called up for it before for something like this. A giant-ass birthday ball celebrating the king. What little luck he had finally running out, after fifteen years in the glaive. About the only thing worth seeing the whole damn night was Crowe and Alba, one of her little murder of mages, casually purloining a few pastries off passing trays; sliding them into the armiger to share around later. 

It was a dumb risk, really. But it wasn’t like they didn't take those all the time. The Kingsglaive attracted a certain type; which wasn't exactly the cautious kind. And it was something to do while being stared at or ogled by the rich and wealthy of Insomnia.

He knew most of Crowe’s would make it back to Axis’ kids one way or another anyways, and the rest well. Probably go towards whatever thing was starting up between her and Pelna. If that actually went anywhere. Khara was a decent guy but he’d known Crowe since they were both just kids, really. She and intimacy didn’t play well.

Those thoughts occupied him as he left the main ballroom full of all His Majesty’s aggravating and well-to-do guests, patrolling the rest of the floor half because he’d been lucky enough to get placed on that rotation instead of anything stationary for the evening and half because he literally couldn’t just stand there anymore. Watching Insomnian nobility dance around in clothes that cost more than he paid for rent in a month. In a year, some of them. Dancing and sneering and treating servants and guards alike like rats. Less than rats.

So he stalked through the halls, leaving behind the delicate black and gold ribbons, the floral arrangements that didn't make any sense and the outfits so elaborate most of them might as well be costumes. As he moved, he calmed, forcing himself to step light instead of heavy -- thinking of the bellows in his forge as he breathed. While it might feel good to stomp so hard he cracked tile, he did not want to have to explain that back at home. 

There were way better reasons to get arrested than vandalizing the Citadel on accident. If he was going down for _that_  he'd at least make it purposeful.

Circling around the main hall on the floor he frowned, finally hearing something beside the dull roar of a crowd and the now faint Insomnian violin pieces playing for everyone. Piano music, soaring and-

Wait he actually recognized that.  Not exactly what it was, but he'd heard it before. Some Altissian opera piece. One of the ones about something forbidden and romantic going down and Leviathan rising and eating everyone? Or, no. But it sounded tragic, nonetheless, especially wordless.

He chased the sound into one of the several sitting rooms on this level, fuck the Citadel was a mess.  Insomnians were ridiculous. Putting twenty stories of bureaucracy smashed together with private residence and seat of government all in one massive complex. It wasn't even like the Caelums didn't have their own estate in the city, he was pretty sure he'd gone there on a field trip once. Come to think of it wasn't there even a six-damned temple somewhere in the building? Some sort of blade shrine at least, one of Bahamut's. Or something to past kings and queens, it wasn't like the crown city wasn't chock full of Caelum ancestor cults.

Tredd's thoughts quieted a bit as he opened the double doors to the sitting room. Good hinges, the actual door handles were shoddily made though. Pretty enough, but he could tell by feel that the details had warped over the years. They were gold and supposed to be spiracorns, he thought. Either way-

And he paused, stepping inside. His breath catching just a little as the music washed over him.  The room was smallish for a Citadel room, had a few couchlike things, a fireplace, a small bar, and a piano. A painting of some past royal somebody who looked really tall standing in front of a weird sort of squiggly tower.  There was only one person there, some younger guy, slim, black hair, wearing a black suit that screamed expensive; there was frit-burned _cape_ hanging over the piano bench. A half cape at least, along with a thin sword in an ornate sheath, and a glass with something black and sparkling in it that looked positively radioactive set on the piano.

Tredd could only see the back of his head really but that didn't stop him from admiring the way he moved, head bowed, hands flowing like he had something that needed to get out of him.  Jagged and smooth all at once. Probably a jackass, with this lot, and honestly, sneaking off into the citadel like he owned the place. But-

At least he could play.

Tredd let him finish out his song, waiting till the man went to take a drink from his spectacularly unappealing cocktail before clearing his throat. 

"You're not supposed to be in here, Sir. Though ah, you play real good.  That was Altissian, right?" Tredd asked, his voice gruff, trying to take the edge off the fact that he'd be escorting the man back. And trying to hide the fact that hearing _that_  music, Soni's music, without him-

When he couldn't sing it at all, anymore. Not really.

Trying to hide the fact that it made him livid. Made him want to crush something. But Tredd had gotten used to that feeling curled up in his chest, scraping at his ribs.

The noble went entirely still for a moment, and finished taking his drink without looking over his shoulder. "It is. Old enough to have a simple title, even. It's called _Return_. It's about a ship coming home, maybe? All the ways it might have wrecked. The ending is very pretty,  better with the words," he said, and his voice was soft, pretty even. Sounded strangely familiar, too. Maybe he was the kinda that got on television a lot? Tredd would figure it out once he saw his face. "And I thought the whole floor was open for guests tonight, it isn't?"

"'Fraid not. Going to have to escort you back, Sir," Tredd said firmly, not sure whether to get pissed at the guy being so casual or impressed by it.

"Ah, just as well, I suppose. They're probably waiting for me, think the blade dance was supposed to start a half hour ago. The crowds just got a bit much, and haven't been able to get the song out of my head all week. Don't really play much anymore."

Tredd scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes as the noble carefully closed the cover over the keys, hand stroking over the wood before flaring the cape out and throwing it over his shoulders in a practiced and almost disdainful move. 

Standing, the man strapped the sword to his waist. It was well balanced, easy to tell just by the way it fell, really. And then, grabbing his drink. He turned.

Revealing himself to be Noctis Lucis Caelum. Crown Prince of Insomnia.  His face looking as soft and withdrawn as his voice.

Bastard.

And he'd liked how he played. 

Heat flushed through him, tension.

Tredd felt his face go stony as his nostrils flared and he stepped back sharply, gesturing roughly with his hand. 

"Sorry to bother. Your highness. Though. Like you said, they're waiting for you. The blade dance," he said, voice clipped and rough. He wasn't even completely sure what a blade dance was. Some fancy Insomnian thing. He'd heard of it but never really bothered to pay attention. But he wanted to get out of there, now, anyways.

First this guy had some weird moment with Soni that his boyfriend hadn't even wanted to talk about, and then he was here playing music he had no fucking right to. Not with what the magic did to him. He shouldn't get to _hear_ it let alone-

The prince looked at him strangely for a moment, before nodding.  

"Of course, Glaive Furia, sorry to take up your time," Noctis said in that same soft voice as he strode out in a lazy glide.

And Tredd blinked, some of the heat going out of him at the lack of any condescension, and at the fact the man even knew his name. What the fuck.

That feeling carried him all the way back to the hall, really, as he grudgingly followed the younger man back into the room. The pair returning drew an uncomfortable Look from both Lords Amicitia, but Tredd fell into place along the wall again, fidgeting with the molding behind him as he folded his hands behind him back.

It wasn't long  before he actually found out what the prince had been talking about. It was weird enough that it actually drew his attention as Lord Amicitia the elder called for the floor to be cleared, and the band changed. 

The whole thing started off with a bunch of nobles, most of them fairly young, lining up and facing off as a new round of music started. The music was weird, it was all drums and the rhythm sounded...uncomfortably familiar actually. Something closer to the rest of Cavaugh, like season festival music, something to actually _move_ to.

And then the pampered nobility were moving forward, drawing live steel. Most of it was junk. Gaudy, unbalanced, for show. Overly engraved or embossed with idiotic hilts. Even as far as ornamental things went he was pretty sure he could throw something far better together. Prince Noctis didn't, though, he was alone, standing in the center, so both lines clashed in front of him, directly in front of his father. How fucking fitting-

Except, as the 'combatants' started to move around each other, in figures that were obviously only half choreographed, something changed.  The dance went on with slowly increasing speed, dancers bowing out whenever they touched steel off beat, and the Prince began walking forward.

His expression didn't change as he stepped into the foray and, for lack of a better word, started to fight it. As he entered, the volume in the room suddenly ramped up. Several hundred pairs of boots starting to...whatever the elegant equivalent of stomp was. Up on his stand in for a throne the King himself was pounding his cane in time with the drum beats as well. Everyone's eyes locked on the young prince.

Noctis started off moving like he'd played the piano, like there was something he needed to get out of him, one hand folded behind his back in something that somehow managed to not quite look like arrogance. Not when the younger man's expression was so distant.

But that didn't last long as he threw his fellow dancers off tempo with precision and grace, spinning, twirling, blade deflecting others, forcing, them to cede the floor. He started moving like something had already escaped him, like the whole dance was something shining out of him.  Except, like the song, it wasn't happy. The prince didn't at all look happy to be doing this beautiful thing, even if it was obvious from the way he focused, the flourishes he put, there was some pleasure in it for him, some level of enjoyment.

All the remaining dancers were converging on him, trying to force him to slip up, and they couldn't. It wasn't like combat, not really. He was sure some of the skill translated, and of course the prince had been trained too.  In combat they'd have overwhelmed him, or any of a dozen other things. But it was-

It was something.

And all at once it was _over_. In a twist that Tredd didn't even follow. And the room was cheering some unintelligible roar in Old Sol. The Prince stood there, covered in a sheen of sweat, all the others spinning off around him, sword held in front of him like he was in some sort of salute. He noticed, vaguely, that the sword wasn't quite suited for him. It was well made, plain for an ornamental dancing blade, but it didn't quite suit his style. Something about it itched at the back of his head, but he ignored it. Tredd couldn't help but scowl at him.

Irrationally angry at the younger man for being beautiful, for having this, for getting to do this and he wasn't even _satisfied_? 

Their eyes met, and the prince, being adulated by the nobility, by everyone 'important' in the whole damn kingdom, frowned ever so slightly.

Which would've made smirk. It should have, really. He enjoyed tweaking people's noses when he could get away with it. Noctis Lucis Caelum deserved that and more. But that frown looked so damned sad, again. Not irritated or haughty or displeased. He wasn't even sure what it was.

Just sad.

Tredd suppressed a growl in the back of his throat, meeting Noctis' eyes for a few drawn out moments before forcing his gaze to scan over the rest of the crowd. Ignoring him. There.

Later in the night, right before the glaives were officially released, a servant walked over to him with a small box full of sweets and the deserts that'd been served. 

There was a tiny note attached to the top in what looked like actual damn calligraphy.

_ "Sorry you had to drag me back for all that. I know it wasn't your job. It was appreciated, though. Thank you. -NLC" _

Tredd felt himself staring, actually flat out staring at the package, for a few long moments as he accepted it. When he looked up again, the prince wasn't even anywhere watching him, trying to get some weird satisfaction out of all this. He'd just. 

Sent him home with desert?

It was the second time that night the boy had made him blink.


	8. The Dance (Noctis)

It wasn't that bad really. The attention wasn't his favorite, but honestly he'd gotten past people's focus on him really being a problem by the time he was twelve. The way his father looked at him always hurt though, when it came down to it.

Like he wasn't seeing him. He knew his mother had been good at this, too. Better, probably. His hand tightened and shifted on the grip of her sword as the lines advanced on each other. Time to push that aside, to let it flow around him. The lingering nerves he had from his brief encounter with Tredd Furia began to pass, questions scrabbling at the back of his mind and then going quiet.

Even the anxiety at the way he felt his father's eyes on his back faded as the drum beats began to sound. This might be something frivolous but it was fun. He could do this, where his father couldn't anymore. He could take up this tiny bit in the ritual of these lavish balls. 

It was a shame actually that Ignis wasn't stepping in tonight. He'd taught Noctis the blade dance as much as anyone, more really. Just like he'd taught him piano.

Noctis strode forward. The need to prove himself, to forget all the noise in his head and around him came up into his throat, winding it's way behind his eyes, down his arms in a jittering shiver. And then he was at peace. He ducked, steel crashed above him and just behind, his free hand closed into a fist, folding behind his back in what he hoped wasn't quite so obviously protective.

His sword met another and another, and he threaded himself through the other dancers, his form rooted classically in the triad of elemental magics. His center, steady as ice, mind a glacier, goals as inevitable as winter. Hands flickering as flame, licking out, retreating anywhere they could not burn. And footwork explosive as lightning, smooth as gliding. Smoother as he found himself at the heart of fighting.

He did not move quickly,  there wasn't much darting around or over eager lunging, quick could hurt his back, something he always had to be concerned about. And quick wasn't the key to speed, either. His blade moved with sureness, slowly into just the right place. Slow was smooth. _Smooth_ was fast.

Parry. Clash. Riposte. Whirl. Repeat. His partners became fewer, fewer, their attentions soon completely on him and it was liberating actually. This sort of attention. The pounding under rhythm of the dance set the pace of his heart, his breath flowed in and out of him and-

It all seemed to melt together, into something that wasn't quite joyous, but was free. 

He ended it with a step. Fire in his heart, inspiration. A glacier in his feet, one step, solid and turning. And lightning in his hands, a blade to meet,  then withdrawing it entirely, snapping it in front of him like a salute; half turned away from them.

Part of him didn't need to confirm that he'd made it to the end of the dance, through all of his partners. His head was held high, mood steady, until he locked gazes with Tredd Furia, and he started to flash a soft smile at the man.

Who looked like he wanted to kill him. Which.

It really shouldn't have hurt. Tredd didn't know him, he didn't know Tredd, even if he looked up to the man vaguely; and had for the fifteen years since the glaive began. Furia was there at the start of it all, younger than Noctis was now. A hero. If the glaive actually gave out medals he'd barely be able to move under the weight.

So, so that was fair. It wasn't a glaive's job to go collecting errant princes who wasted their time. Who couldn't handle their own responsibilities and snuck off to play piano because. Six. Because of the man's partner. He forced himself not to blush, breathing carefully. Tredd had probably heard about that, he'd read in the files how close Bellum was with his team, they always worked together. Tredd Furia, Sonitus Bellum, Axis Arra.

Okay, well.  

It took wind out of his sails, but that was fine. He'd find some way to apologize to the man, quietly. Without putting his foot in his mouth.


	9. Troubling Thoughts, Worried Conversation (Sonitus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay finally we see a little of what's actually going on with Sonitus' voice!

Tiles shattered, protective runes threatening to crack under the strain of his voice directed at them for more than a few seconds of sustained noise. A human would have been pummeled or bruised after a word, bleeding after long seconds like this. But Sonitus kept singing, holding the notes long and terribly as the lament leaped from his throat. Magic issued from his mouth, from the power of his voice. The two of them bound now, irrevocably. He couldn't speak without the crystal magic sliding into the words, rendering him essentially mute outside of battle. And even in it, well. He sang, but it was a thrashing thing, a writhing tunnel of force that scraped at things around it. Gnawed at them.

The lament was good for practice. Tragedy granted a certain clarity, but it was anything but precise, hard to use in an actual fight. Good for keeping up vocal strength but-

Imprecise, hard to utilize in the real world.

He twisted, chucking one of his kukri without any sense of real elegance, and he held the tone as he warped even though it drew tears to his eyes, twisting his mouth to get it away from the tiles he’d started to damage and then-

A shrieking, discordant, noise blared through the room. Echoing off the walls distastefully. The alarm warning the barren mage-training room required repair, to cease damaging activity immediately.

Sonitus snarled, magic snuffing out against his mouth, flattened between his lips as he stood therepanting. Unsatisfied, unfinished, covered in a sharp sweat, a prickling sensation.

Half an hour, he’d been able to practice what he liked for half an hour.

Closing his eyes, he jogged over to the door, palming the alarm off, and took a breath. Inhale. Exhale. Control the breath, control the voice. That was what mattered, even now when he was-

Not useless.

Not.

He kept Axis safe. Kept Tredd safe. The kids. His friends.

Just, bitterly, finally, living up to his name.

The sound of war.

Sonitus sealed his mouth, lips locked, and closed his eyes. Through the nose, in and out. Then his lips parted again, moving with graceful slowness, keeping himself planted and conscious in his body, mouth forming a circle as he began to sing a lullaby. The sound spread from his mouth like a mist. A soft and bubbling thing, conjuring sleep. Moving harmlessly around the room as he sang, twirling in sparkling eddies.

There was a sense of purpose in lullabies, they rooted him back to himself. He started with  _Full Moon Tender_. For a man blessed as he had been blessed, with the destiny he had almost had, lullabies were coming home. 

Coming home, and the bitter reminder that  that path was shut. Over and over again. A reminder that he could sing in battle but he would never croon the High Songs to keep Leviathan content in her sleep. Nor the others to wake her if needed. To soothe her moments stirring in the world.

So now, no matter how he cherished them, his lullabies held thorns. They did nothing to unleash what he needed, to help him sort out the wildness in his head that'd risen again since that damn cab ride. What it had felt like holding a conversation, even a little bit, with someone hearing the sound of his voice, or whatever the prince had been doing and not just the flicks of his hands.

He sang the lullaby anyways, and another after it. He wasn’t an amatuer, he wouldn’t let memories of those strange minutes deter him. He ignored them as they flitted by, let them swarm and buzz at him. Refused to think about the story Tredd had told him. The Prince played piano apparently.

He even knew _Return_ , which, well. It wasn’t exactly a Lucian favorite. Sonitus had recognized it immediately when Tredd hummed a few bars to him. And wasn’t _that_ an odd choice at a party?   
  
There were a lot of odd things about the prince, apparently. More than he’d expected.

Sonitus practiced lullabies at every  volume and range till his energy finally flagged. He peeled his shirt off as he walked out of the mage’s training room, writing on the clipboard nailed up to the wall outside that it needed repair. Again.

Strolling in just his undershirt, he used it to mop his brow of sweat, flashing a tired smile as he found Tredd waiting outside the locker rooms, leaning against the wall. Cleaning his damn nails with another one of his knives.

This one looked new, too.

“ _Going to cut your fingers off one of these days. I like your fingers,”_ he signed as he walked by the redhead, leaning over to kiss the man’s cheek.

“Well you'll get to say I fucking told you so then, won't you?” Tredd contributed, strolling d in after him. Sonitus snorted.

The locker rooms were abandoned. And it was only that that really that made him look over at the clock on the wall as he trudged towards the showers. Nearly seven. The only ones left would be a few of Crowe’s mages; if that. It didn’t surprise him that Tredd had stayed this late with him, Axis would’ve probably kept him company too till he had to go pick up the kids.

The kids. “S _hit. Dinner, I forgot,”_  he started signing tiredly over his shoulder. It was family dinner night.

He let out a sort of half muffled grunt as he kicked his boots off, stripping out of the rest of his clothing and tossing them all towards his locker with a bit more force than he meant to. His boots clanged against the locker loud as he continued on. He’d normally have been neater, if there were anyone here to see, but he was already sinking down and-

There was a hand on his shoulder, heavy and calloused, squeezing softly.  Tredd. “Already texted, we’ll do movie night this week. Crowe and Khara got a hold of some bootleg movies, tossed the kid ones our way. All good, Soni,” a kiss to the back of his head, soft, warm.

Sonitus nodded. He allowed himself the warmth of his lover’s touch for just a moment longer before making his way into the communal shower, turning some of the water on, scalding as he could make it.

Leaning against the shower wall, he let his forehead press against cool tile, hot water running down his back. His hands clenched against the wall and Sonitus didn’t think about the ease of speaking. How he couldn’t manage it without hurting anyone. Hurting someone he _loved_. Or how he couldn’t get out of his own head enough to be there for Axis, for the kids, the children of his heart-

He did _**not** _think of it. The glaive just let himself feel it, drown in it. And drowning was right for someone like him, chosen of Leviathan, Harbinger-to-be. Drowning would be an honor. And then, of course, there was solidness again behind him, pressed close, thick arms wrapped around him.

Those heavy smith’s hands stroked lazy patterns of nonsense over his skin, little trails of touch anchoring him back to the world. Guiding him up again, to somewhere solid. He wasn’t a small man, but sometimes he could feel it surrounded by Tredd, protected, held.

They were not such bad things to be.

Slowly the feelings began to lift and he began to breathe, hands unclenching against the wall as he listened to Tredd’s breathing behind him. Like this, Tredd felt almost as warm as the water rushing over them both, naked and pressed to him, wearing only that antler charm around his throat; Sonitus could feel it against his back. Homage to his own god, that fallen flame.

After a few minutes like that, he felt something settle inside him, and he pressed his ass back, teasing. Not that he wanted anything at the moment, they really should get going, but he enjoyed the game of it. Enjoyed the reminders that his lovers knew him, knew he rarely actually felt the need for sex, no matter how he played. He _did_ like riling them up though.

It was a good way of signalling he was okay enough, for the moment, without talking about it more. He wasn’t up for that, not yet.  
  
Tredd’s hand slapped his hip, accompanied by a gruff laugh, ending any thoughts. “Cut that out, know you aint in the mood,” the redhead said firmly, before kissing his shoulder again. “Later, tonight, if you’re actually feeling it.”

“ _I might. We’ll have to see,”_ he signed coyly, glancing back with the hint of a grin worn into his lips. “ _Come on, make yourself useful. Let’s get clean.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next chapter you all get to meet Axis and his adorable kids~


	10. Running Late (Axis)

_**Two hours**_. Axis was two hours late, and he'd only gotten here as soon as he did because Tredd covered his debrief when they got back to the city so he could sprint to the subway.  

Two hours. The citadel creche would charge a whole day, maybe more because of it.  Wasn't sure where he'd get the money from this time. Maybe the power? The kids could stay at Tredd's for a few days, or Sonitus' if the timing worked out. He'd gone without power before. He took the stairs almost three at a time, his face a mask, eyes withdrawn and distant as they usually were.

The dread in his stomach when he stepped inside the creche's front doors, sliding into it and trying to seem presentable and not like he'd been covered in mud and who knows what else, wasn't anything new. It wasn't even something directly related to his children. It'd lived with him a while now. Before they'd come to Insomnia. 

Maybe when the wall fell, when he was a boy. Or when his brother had died to daemons. It had been there before Rosemary died, certainly. 

Before she died. Before they tried to take his children away. The first time, or the second.

But none of that had _helped_.

The glaive didn't mind it so much, anymore, the dread that lived somewhere in his shoulders and his stomach and his calves. Numbing and weakening and strengthening all in pulses. Whole seasons of dread blooming for him. It had become a horrid sort of comforting. A familiar kind of miserable.

There were ways to handle it, too. Turning it to the right task. Tredd had helped with that, teaching him how to fight. He knew better than most that Walls fell. Lights failed. Crops died. Bellies went empty. Limbs went weak. Death visited. He could not rely on others to protect his family. Jessamine. Sage. Belladonna.  Tredd. Sonitus.

Striding into the creche, he wanted to pause, almost did, but his expression didn't flicker.

There was one of the usual women at the front desk; looking exceedingly unhappy.  And behind her in the pick up room, were his children seated at one of the small child sized tables with Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. Axis passed by her with a nod. His kids came first.

Always.

The prince wasn't on the floor like most adults would be to avoid the ridiculously tiny chairs. He'd found a bean bag somewhere. _Had he brought his own beanbag?_ A bright purple thing with some sort of logo on it he couldn't quite make out.  Noctis was leaning over, running a colored pencil back and forth across a page right beside his youngest. The four year old was staring at the page like she was stalking it, ready to take it down with her own coloring instrument.

"Oh you're way better at this than I am Bella. _Wow_ , okay. I suck at coloring. Do they like cover that in pre-school or whatever? If they did my tutors totally skimped.  Or nah, bet it's natural talent. What do you think Jess, Sage?" Noctis asked, he was facing the door but he didn't seem to notice Axis' approach.

Sagebrush was dutifully doing his homework, glancing up only slightly at the prince as his twin worked beside him. Jessamine, meanwhile, snorted, doing similarly even if she was obviously more distracted by the teenager. 

"I think," his nine year old daughter said firmly. "That she's fine. It's just you sucking. Your highness."

Axis tensed. But Noctis, the prince, laughed. A small, apparently still quite chuckle.

"Ouch, harsh, Jess. I told you though, you can call me Noct. We're just hanging out, right?" he asked, earnest as he glanced to Belladonna.

His little girl looked up at him solemnly and nodded. "Nockt," she declared, before pushing his hand away firmly from his own page. "You're real bad at this."

That drew another chuckle, from Noctis and Jess both. Even Sage smiled, and that-

That was nice, actually. The young man pretended to pout, opening his mouth to say something, and then his attention sharpened for a moment, gaze flicking up to Axis.

"Children," Axis greeted, swooping in behind Bella and kissing her on top of the head, tilting his body so that the other two could come in for the same treatment, and they did, crowding in and hugging him. "I'm sorry I'm late,  work ran long. And no, no injuries, Sage."

He said it without even having to look at his son or how the boy was trying to assess the state of him.  Axis kissed each of his children on top of their heads, holding them close as he looked up to the young man who'd apparently kept his kids company.

_For two hours?_

"And ah, thank you, your highness. I hope they weren't bothering you too much," he said, voice soft, reserved but not combative. More curious, really, than anything, watching the other man.

Noctis just smiled wider, shaking his head. "It wasn't any trouble, Glaive Arra. They were great. I popped in to do a whole thing with the creche for the day and ended up sticking around after.  They seemed short staffed, after the first few kids got picked up. So figured I'd hang out till their dad made it in," the man shrugged with one shoulder. “Was actually pretty cool. Don’t get to hang out with awesome kids that much.”

  
“Was pretty cool hanging out with you too,  _ your highness _ ,” Jessamine huffed. 

“I appreciated your help on my math, a great deal,” Sage added more solemnly as Bella turned around completely in her father’s arms and looked up the prince.

“You’re pretty okay. You could come hang out again, if you wanted,” the four year old declared firmly, in a dry voice. Axis let out a sigh, dread curling through him again out of habit.

When the Prince made a sound somewhere between a laugh and an outright giggle his face opened up in a way that made the glaive intimately aware of how withdrawn the boy had been himself. Noctis shook his head.

“Fuck that’s refreshing. Sure. And you’re pretty okay too kid. I’d like that a lot, if your dad’s okay with it,,” Noctis said warmly, rising up somewhat stiffly and scooping the bean bag chair into his armiger with apparent practice.

“Language,” Axis scolded drearily, gaze flicking to the prince and then to his children. The man was so casual with them, the familiar sternness slipped out and he had to hide a wince as he did his best to recover. “Your highness.”

Noctis blinked. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, didn’t think,” the younger man ruffled his own hair, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “That was my bad, kids. You shouldn’t say curse. Sorry, Arra,” he apologized with all apparent sincerity.

After a moment of watching him, Axis nodded. “Not around kids, much. I understand. You seemed to be handling them pretty well. It means a lot, your highness,” he said, his voice still soft as he slowly stood up, glancing over at the counter with a sense of trepidation.

At least it will have been worth it, with the kids having enjoyed themselves for once, he reasoned with himself quietly.

Surprisingly, Noctis seemed to catch the meaning behind the glance, or at least some of it, and he smiled. “Oh, ah you don’t have to worry about late charges or anything. It was just me watching them, it’s not like I’m a professional or anything, didn’t seem fair to charge anything for that. Made sure they wouldn’t once like an hour had passed,” his voice lowered, cheeks turning red as Axis didn’t quite stare at him.

Okay, no. He was staring, trying not to outright glare.  Shame joined the dread in a flush along his neck, his back going up at the implication that he couldn’t take care of his children. He wanted to be grateful, part of him was sagging in relief as it went slack, stopping worrying at the problem of finding the cash somewhere. But the added tension started to dissipate, after a few moments, as the prince leaned in and continued talking.

“I’m kinda used to people trying to ah, monetize me or whatever.  Didn’t want them trying to charge you an arm and a leg because I decided to hang out with the three coolest kids in Insomnia,” the prince said, gaze shooting to Jessamine almost conspiratorially. He winked. She giggled.

And there. It was easier. The sound of his daughter’s voice, the fact that it wasn’t about him at all. It was the Prince uncomfortable, having his own issues; however different they might be from his. Axis supposed it would be uncomfortable like that, people trying to use you, your face, your name, your presence, to make money off of others. It seemed, too, like he was genuinely doing his best to be nice.

Not pitying. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that paying might be an issue for Axis.

More like those pastries that Tredd had come home with. Which was, well-

Axis found Noctis far from as infuriating, or as confusing, as his lovers had.  They continued on, making idle chit chat for a few more minutes with Axis feeling distant, that hind part of his brain that worried about things already moving on to dinner, before the prince made his excuses to leave.

The four of them ended up walking out of the Citadel together. Noctis even offered to give them a ride. Which Axis declined and thanked the man for.

Walking to the subway, he felt himself heartened by the meeting as he caught up with his children, learning how the younger man had helped with homework and talked about their favorite shows. And apparently, as Bella showed him in her book, h e was either very good at pretending, or he truly was just _awful_ at coloring.

Either way, it was food for thought. There was a seed there. It made some things make more sense. Some things less, but either way.  

The day was turning far better than he’d thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not completely happy with this, but I enjoy the children a lot. And finally got it to a place where it's serviceable at least.


	11. Studying (Noctis)

 

 

> _"There has been no woman of keener sight, nor steadier hand, in all the years of Lucis, or even Eos, of that I am very nearly sure.  That was I think the root of the sourness it took in her, not quite a sickness at all, but an accident of focus and affinity._
> 
> _I took Yria into my Blades on the battlefield, sharing of my light. So much of magic is hidden within intention, the thrown blade that blazes the path for us to follow in crystal shard and warping way, the unique gifts we each bring, magics we learn that resonate with our own soul, to be passed into the ring, onto our descendants. I did not realize how such things might carry to those not of the blood, that magic would find such unique expression -- and prove dangerous. I write this now so hopefully, you will not make similar mistakes._
> 
> _It started slowly in her, at first her eyes would glow when she drew the bow. Other gifts followed, she could light targets on fire from afar, with only the path of her sight. The problem began however, that her sight dimmed, when she did not use the magic. Whenever she looked, magic came. Until her sight and it held no difference._
> 
> _I might have stopped it, I feel I could have, if she had not been ranging afar when it began. By the time we met again, after years in the field. She was blind when not in battle, and it was bound. To withdraw my magic was to withdraw her sight._ _  
> _
> 
> _I am a singularly lucky king, to have soldiers as loyal as she. For she tells me it is a small sacrifice. It is small consolation, that when we are near, I seem able to share her sight, and share my own with her. But I tell you, my daughters, and sons, and descendants. Be wary. Magic is the blood in our veins, the light in our souls, and it can become something wholly more in those with whom we share our selves. There are more detailed notes, from Yria herself and Lord Autium’s own learned studies, he has made a project of investigating the magic of the world, including our family’s own divine bloodline. He is a learned man, and I will have his works transcribed and placed in our library. I hope this warning grants some wisdom, as my forefather’s words have taught me what they could._
> 
> -From the personal journals of King Metus Lucis Caelum called the Warrior

Noctis ran a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he tried to stay focused; there was a knot in his stomach as he read through the journal again. And his head was pounding from working the translation out. Metus had been far enough back he still wrote his personal things in Old Sol instead of Lucian. But it was worth it, finally there was something he could actually dig his teeth into.

The prince had been looking fruitlessly for weeks. Well, months, now. Searching for examples of telepathy, mental connections. Anything that might explain everything that had happened that night. It'd started off idly, and escalated from there.   
  
Everywhere he'd looked had only lead to more questions. Sonitus Bellum wasn’t recorded anywhere as being mute. He’d been an opera singer in Altissia. A lauded one. And there was no mention of anything like this in his dossier. Which was concerning all on it’s own. There was something _weird_ about it all. And with how sad and angry the glaive had seemed-

Noctis hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t even mentioned it to the man’s partners when he met them, let alone Ignis or Gladio. They'd written his new interest in the journals as positive sign of him taking up more of his responsibilities. Which he'd have felt more guilty if he hadn't actually been doing more, too. He wasn’t even sure if there **_was_ **anything wrong, it had been almost entirely curiosity. At least it had been.

Reading Metus' journal left him with a sinking sensation. There’d been a few of his ancestors that reported feeling things like auras, sensing intentions, but nothing like telepathy, not even outright empathy. Nothing like that even in recorded studies regarding Oracles. Nothing that seemed even vaguely familiar, until this.

It hadn’t been with voices but. Going blind, magic bound to sight, _shared_ sight. Maybe. It _wasn't_ good news really. But it might be a clue, nonetheless. He stared at the pages in question before lifting the tablet he’d been using to take notes, snapping off a few quick scans of the page before closing it and tossing it back into the pile.

He looked up and had to blink, as he realized how dark it was in the library. He'd gotten lost in reading again, apparently.

The personal library of the royal family of Lucis was a lavish thing, a large room with several stained glass windows and sconces still lit from inside by nothing but magic. Few but the royal family themselves, their Shields, their personal stewards and advisers, ever set foot in it.

Bookcases were made of polished black marble, gilded with steel and ornate metals twisted into images of skulls and dragons and swords. Most of the works were personal journals, mixed in with original works and manuscripts gathered and preserved over the last two thousand years. They were joined with a few computers now tucked into small cubbies, each with access to citadel records, and a strange cabinet of an unidentifiable wood that the Wanderer had brought back from afar -- it was anchored in the armiger and held copies of most of Lucis’ long legal history, along with council notes, all the paperwork required to run a nation that spanned across a continent.

He’d avoided the damn place for most of his life, hiding from his legacy, but it’d grown familiar since that night out. His curiosity turned maybe a little obsessive. The room was becoming almost comforting, in its way, as he’d noticed Ignis’ mix of strange looks. Confusion and approval. He refused to let that last get to him, to let himself grow hopeful of it lasting.

Noctis was also, apparently, alone. The seat across the polished marble table left empty. 

“Iggy?” he called out, leaning back in his chair and wincing as his back twinged. He suppressed a further grimace, letting his face go slack with the usual mask of boredom. He hated showing how much it could still hurt. He refused to let people see, to realize how weak he was still.

There was a moment of silence, shuffling, and then Ignis’ shape materialized from between the stacks as he stepped out, hand raised to adjust his glasses. “Yes, Noctis?” the other said, brow arched. “Finally come up to breathe, I see."

Noctis’ cheeks heated and he hid it with a half shrug. “Uh, I guess, yeah. Can you get me anything by a…” he glanced at his tablet. “Anything by a Lord Autium, during the Warrior’s reign? It looks like he wrote some interesting things. I’ll want to look at it tomorrow.”

He said the last to cut off his adviser before the other tried to prod him into going to eat. He’d been forgetting again lately, as he got lost in his new projects. Studying all this with Bellum, and well. Learning more about the duties he’d always had. If he hadn’t done that then Ignis would’ve gotten way more curious than he liked.

“And hey, you think it’d be alright if we let Prom come in? I know the rules and everything, but I haven’t gotten to see him as much lately, and he can do a bunch of his photo editing on the computers and stuff. It’d be cool to have him around,” he suggested, on a whim. He’d still been spending time with Prom, but all this had started cutting into a chunk of it. He wanted to fix that.

Ignis’ brow furrowed slightly, and took on a strange expression that Noctis wasn’t completely sure what to do with, before inclining his head. “Of course. And...I think your father would be amenable. Prompto is trustworthy, and a close confidante. It might be good for him to get to see this, as well,” the adviser mused, before flashing his prince a soft smile.

Noctis relaxed at the ready agreement and smiled back. “Thanks Ig,” he said. “I’ll clean up my stuff here,  you pull whatever you can find. Then we can go grab dinner.”

Ignis simply nodded and vanished into the stacks again and Noctis couldn't stop smiling despite the very real worries the entry had introduced. Progress, at least, was progress. Hopefully there’d be something. Maybe even something he could do to help. If the glaive wanted it, at least. 

He couldn't stop seeing Bellum's face, when he thought about it all. Illuminated by nothing but the lobby lights from his apartment building. The sound of that perfectly clear voice ringing in his head. If he could make that voice sound happy, instead of everything it'd been filled with. 

Well.

It was worth the time he'd put into all of this. He'd make it worth it.

There was still something strange going on about it all, but he was confident he’d figure that out too, now. In the meantime there were worse things than reading about his ancestors in their own words. A few of them had felt how he felt, sometimes, about his father. About the way the magic ate at them, about great works like the Wall.

It was strangely comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis is considerably less disapproving than Noctis actually thinks he is, but Noctis tends to think of people's opinion of him as a lot harsher than it is. And he wants to help, wants to make the people around him proud, with an intensity that can get kinda harmful for him.


	12. Interlude II (Crowe)

“Might’ve gotten Ulric’s stamp of approval for this whole thing between you and our favorite firebrand, Khara, but. _But_ , we’ve got to watchout for our lieutenant here. Titan knows she’s had shit taste in partners before,” Alba said bombastically, the blonde throwing one arm over his shoulder and making the poor man spill his about half his beer out over the bar. Crowe snorted, shaking her head and knocking back the last of her own  cheap whiskey as she flagged the bartender down for a refill.

Pelna shot her a wide eyed look as the mage pulled him off of his stool and started dragging him towards where the rest of Crowe's ‘murder’ was camped out. A booth with all the girls and Forrest spilling out onto the tables surrounding it. There was one empty chair left for Crowe if she decided to join, in the middle of everyone.

“Crowe!?!” Pelna attempted to protest, glancing towards the group and back to her. Looking for help. He really was sweet, five years younger than her and way too idealistic. But she’d been enjoying his company.

She liked him.

Crowe grabbed her new drink and turned on the stool to face her people, leaning back against the wooden bartop as Libertus settled down beside her, stealing her new boytoy’s seat.  She waved her hand, encouraging them all to go on.

“You’ll be _fine_. They only bite a little. You were brave enough to ask me out, sure you’re brave enough to hang with the crowd,” she winked at him, enjoying the panic in his eyes probably more than she should as Alba manhandled him into the booth and her mages started to pepper him with questions. 

Well questions, and crude propositions, making the younger man stutter as he fended them off. Her smile turned from smirk to something softer, she actually hoped he took them up on some of those. Alba might be a bit much for him, but a few of the girls, or Forrest, might be good. Give him a taste of something knew. Six knew she’d slept with a good number of her people. They looked out for each other. Her own little family of misfits in the greater swath of the glaive, almost as close to her as Nyx and Lib.

“Y’know they really might scare him off,” Libertus commented from the side, amused. His voice rumbled when he talked to her and Nyx in private, like thunder. Reminded her of the storms back home even after all this time. She never knew what to think of it, it felt like home. And she sort of hated home, though less, around him. He missed it still.  “He’s a bit jumpy for you. Earnest. Didn’t know you wanted a puppy.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “More to him than that when we’re alone. There’s good steel there. And hey, _speaking_ of metal,” she leaned her cheek on her shoulder, staring at the older man. Talking about relationships wasn’t her wheelhouse. _Having_ them wasn’t her wheelhouse. She didn’t know what she was doing with the guy. Shit.

She took another drink.

“Weren’t you be bugging Tredd tonight? Thought you wanted a rematch, or something,” she said, hopefully distracting him. The pair didn’t get on in the least, and as someone close to both of them she tended to find it more than a little hilarious how they argued. And enjoyed it. She wasn’t even sure what this ‘rematch’ was about this time. They competed in way too many things.

“Eh,” he rolled his shoulders in something that was almost a shrug. “Was late. Ran into some trouble, this kid getting mugged. Helped him out, then we were busy dodging the fucking Crownsguard. Hunkered down in a coffee shop for a while. Furia probably woulda bailed anyways. He and his boys’ve been weird. Found out why, though.”

Crowe just arched her brow and he finally made an expression that wasn’t mullish. He smirked at her.

“The prince was in here, a little while or so back. Drinking. Bellum got him back home.  Arra ran into him too, with his kids, ‘pparently. His highness makes an impression,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

She blinked, glancing back towards Pelna and her mages. He’d been shoved into Alba and Jenny’s laps, and was trying to make himself small. “No shit.  Guess I gotta hit hot stuff up for updates more. What the fuck was the pretty boy prince doing around here?”

Both of them shrugged at the same time, and drank. 

"Wait, you holed up in a coffee shop?" she asked after a few minute, suddenly. Lib didn't even  _like_ coffee. She was gratified, after the question, with the slight heat that rose to his cheeks. Well. Wasn't that interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens place a little while after the first chapter in Summoned Snippets. You don't need to read it to understand anything going on here, but if you're curious about what happened with Libertus, the answer is there ~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Dark_Puck for a huge chunk of the worldbuilding that's going into this fic, as well as a great deal of the headcanons behind the main traitor trio! This whole premise is a blast to write, and well. Incredibly self indulgent.


End file.
